


The Parts Of Sex Pollen Fics That No One Wants To Admit Happens

by Bam4Me



Series: A Quiet Place Just For Us [2]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Depressed Stiles, Depression, Gen, Prequel to a VERY fluffy afterlife!fic, Sex Or Death, Sex Pollen, Stiles Chose Death, Stiles Refuses To Be Raped To Survive, Suicide, asexual!Stiles, kind of, suicide talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bam4Me/pseuds/Bam4Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, sex pollen doesn't work like people want it to. Sometimes people won't choose to get fucked over choosing to die. Sometimes, people are fine with that.</p>
<p>(Sequel is crossover with Supernatural.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Parts Of Sex Pollen Fics That No One Wants To Admit Happens

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a fic, where sex pollen happens, but to an asexual character who would literally rather die than have sex. (Mostly, because I would literally rather die than be forced to have sex.)
> 
> I ALSO wanted a Supernatural crossover fic, where Stiles dies, and finds out that his soulmate is Benny Lafitte (who was sent up to heaven after getting killed in Purgatory) and ends up becoming regressive and little because he's freaked out, and pretty much it's an ageplay fic, but more like de-aging too, cause I like that shit.
> 
> Anyways, I ended up combining them, because even when I write a major character death fic, I need it to have a fluffy ending.

“Stiles? Stiles, can you hear me?”

 

Stiles turned away from the voice, curling up tighter on the hospital bed. He could hear Melissa moving around the room, turning lights off. “Stiles, please open your eyes? The lights are off.”

 

Stiles didn’t, just pulling the blanket further over his head. Stiles heard another voice. “Hey, kiddo.”

 

Stiles kept himself covered, feeling dirty and wrong, head pounding like he’d been hit. Was he hit?

 

“Daddy.”

 

The bed dipped down a little, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He kept the blanket on his head, leaning into his father’s side. “Yeah, kiddo, Daddy’s here.”

 

Stiles didn’t say anything else, trying to breathe through the pain in his head. John just let his son lie against him for a bit.

 

Stiles finally got curious, though. “Why’s it hurt, Daddy?”

 

“Your head?”

 

Stiles thought about nodding, his throat feeling raw and hot. It hurt to speak, but he’d already drank a lot of water, and he didn’t want to drink any more right now, in case he had to go pee before he could walk a straight line. But, the idea of nodding made his head throb a little more, and so he decided to go with a less painful method right now. “Yeah.”

 

He heard some things shift around, and John lifted up the blanket enough to catch a pair of raw, red eyes. “Melissa is going to put something in your IV, okay, sweetheart? You’ve been out in the woods for a week alone now; you probably fell and hit your head. Got a pretty big bump on the back of it.”

 

Stiles’ red eyes shifted over to Melissa, slightly distrustful. “Why don’t I ‘member that?”

 

Stiles swallowed, throat throbbing now. He reached out and shakily tried to get a hold of the cup of ice chips on the bedside table, bladder be damned, he needed something to sooth it now. John helped him, holding the cup between them so Stiles could stick one in his mouth. “They said you might get retrograde amnesia.”

 

Stiles hummed around the cold, leaning further into John’s side while the drugs made him sleepy. His head was still throbbing though, like it would never stop. “’at sucks.”

 

***

 

The throbbing didn’t stop. It ebbed at some points, tapering down to a low background pain. Stiles made a request for Melissa to put on his charts, not to turn on the lights unless necessary. The doctors were labeling it as a persistent migraine.

 

Stiles knew what a migraine felt like; this was both worse and better. It wasn’t the same though, but it did make him tired and sluggish.

 

He felt like every time he fell asleep, the life was slowly leaking out of him, and soon enough it’d leave entirely.

 

He’d been here for a week now, and while he feels like he should be eager to leave, the exhaustion makes him cautious just going to the bathroom when he was awake.

 

He was sitting back against the pillows one afternoon, listening to his dad talk in hushed, but harsh tones, to Stiles’ grandparents. Apparently, they didn’t think Stiles imminent death was cause enough to come see him.

 

Stiles’ eyes roved over the occupants in the room to see everyone. They were all there.

 

Peter was sitting on the bed next to him, so far, the only one that Stiles had actually let touch him. He leaned back against Peter’s side when he felt the wolf shake, uncontrollable and upset. Stiles let the wolf slide one hand onto Stiles when the teen reached for him, trying to calm him down. Stiles didn’t make any move to try and calm any of the others in the room, though.

 

“I’m not doing that.”

 

Peter shook a little harder, before letting out a sigh and moving to basically bracket him from the rest of the room. Scott made a pissed off sound, looking like he was seconds from sending Peter through a wall. They had never gotten along, but this was maddening.

 

“Stiles, why the hell are you even letting him touch you?”

 

Stiles looked at Scott, eyes wide and pissed, “Because he’s the only one in this room not trying to _rape_ me right now, Scott!”

 

Scott recoiled, looking a little sick. Peter shook harder, and Stiles felt another hand on him, about to start yelling again before more pain was leached away. Peter could only take so much at a time without getting sick. Stiles’ eyes blinked open, not realizing that he’d closed them, to see Derek, trying not to touch him with much more than his fingers, looking apologetic.

 

Stiles sighed, “No, Peter’s not the only one in this room trying to rape me, Derek’s pretty fucking straight, my tits aren’t big enough for him.” Malia made a noise in the back of her throat, in her coyote form on his lap. “Okay, Malia too.”

 

Derek couldn’t help it, though he tried to scowl at Stiles, but a small smile slipped in. Though it was weak, Stiles hadn’t fully lost his sense of humor. “If you asked me to, I would. But you’d never ask, so I won’t.”

 

Stiles frowned, “Maybe I _like_ growly and mean and pushing me into walls all the time.”

 

Derek smiled, “You don’t want me, Stiles.”

 

Stiles looked away, “No, I don’t.”

 

Lydia made a choked off noise on the other side of the room. “Stiles, there _has_ to be someone-“

 

“There isn’t.”

 

She shook her head, “Everyone has someone, though.”

 

“No.” Peter answered for him, still holding the teen to his chest, “If you were a wolf, you’d know. He doesn’t feel attraction to people.”

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow, “Should people be embarrassed about that? That you guys know everyone’s sexual attraction before even they do?”

 

Peter shrugged, eyes rubbed raw like Stiles’ had been less than a week ago, voice broken like he’d spent too long crying. “Sexuality means nothing when you can see it like clothes, usually before someone has ever felt it for themselves. There’s nothing wrong with sexuality.”

 

Stiles nodded, looking away. His head felt a little better today, with everyone constantly taking the pain from him. They said the pain would just keep coming, not getting any worse, but keep coming until it killed him.

 

Only if he didn’t have sex though.

 

To be honest, Stiles hasn’t had a big enough reason to live, for years now. His dad was the only real thing keeping him held on, and even then, he hated the idea of having sex enough, that even to save his own life, he’d choose death.

 

“Sex or death.”

 

Scott scoffed, looking away. “I don’t see why it’s got to be suck a big decision. Orgasms feel good, you don’t feel good right now.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I never said I don’t touch myself, Scott. I said I’d rather die than let anyone else touch me.”

 

“Peter’s touching you, right now.”

 

Stiles sighed, reaching over to pull Peter’s arms firmly around him, glaring at Scott the whole way. “Yep. Peter gets to touch, because he’s one of the good one in this room, and would never touch me like that. Besides that, he’s warm. I haven’t felt warm in days.”

 

He hadn’t. The nurses tried turning up the heat in his room for him, after they saw him kick all his blankets off to sleep in the cold. He couldn’t stand the heat, though. It made his throat close up, and his head hurt worse. Heat makes you _feel_.

 

He felt okay right now, though. The pain wasn’t gone, but, compared to the consistent throb it had been before, he could stand to deal with it.

 

Peter just smiled, small and barely there, into his neck, holding him that might tighter.

 

It was amazing, how much a terminal condition can make others want to swaddle you up.

 

No one had been around to do that to Peter when he had been in the hospital himself, and Stiles’ mother had been too confused to enjoy it. Stiles couldn’t help but feel some peace at this one, non-sexual, non-threatening, cuddle, knowing fully well that he could lower his guard around the Hale’s and not worry about one of them molesting him in his sleep in a backwards bid to save him life.

 

“What am I attracted to?”

 

He mumbled the soft words into Peter’s neck, making the older man stiffen a little, before inhaling the sickly sweet smell coming off of Stiles’ hair, shuddering a little at the scent, but pulling himself together before Derek had to help him. “Detachment.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

Peter shrugged, “Like, images. Anything with a face in it, that’s an automatic no. You don’t like faces. You like body parts, but not the people attached to them.”

 

Stiles cringed, “If you’re suggesting that I would have sex with disembodied hands-“

 

“I’m not. Just saying, you don’t like the actual people, just their body parts. I don’t think you would even want to touch them though.”

 

Derek made a surprised noise. “I was going to say that I didn’t realize that you spent so much time thinking about him, Peter, but I have something helpful to add, instead. You hate feet.”

 

Stiles pushed his face into Peter’s neck, cheeks heating up slightly, not realizing that they actually knew so much about him. It was kind of scary, and kind of made him want to crawl into a little hole and stay there. “Feet are disgusting. I hate them. Don’t even talk about them.”

 

Derek made an amused noise, nodding, “Okay. No feet.”

 

“Good.”

 

The room was silent for a minute, before Scott spoke again, sounding a little like he was trying to apologize. “Balloons.”

 

Stiles pulled back from his cuddle, looking at Scott funny. “What?”

 

Scott shrugged, “Balloons. You love them, big bright ones that don’t float.”

 

“I’m not attracted to balloons, Scotty.”

 

Scott shrugged, “Who says anything about attracted? No one is attracted to balloons. I’m just saying, maybe we should get some.”

 

Stiles looked back at Derek, who seemed to be looking something up on his phone. “I guess. I do like balloons.”

 

Derek frowned, looking up. “There _are_ people who are attracted to balloons. ‘s called a ‘looner.’ Something I didn’t need to know, but, there you go.”

 

Stiles sighed, sitting back against Peter.

 

He wondered if any of them would smile after he was gone. Even he could admit to being the clown of the pack, the one that tried to make everyone smile. He just hoped they would once he wasn’t there anymore.

 

He had this awful feeling they wouldn’t.

 

***

 

“Your grandparents aren’t going to make it.”

 

Stiles nodded tiredly against John’s side. The two of them were lying on Stiles’ hospital bed. Stiles was nearly gone.

 

It hurt more than John could put into words.

 

“I didn’t figure they would. Weren’t here when Mama died either, said it would hurt too much.”

 

John let a few tears leak out, but didn’t give into them like he wanted to. He promised Stiles he wouldn’t until he was gone, because Stiles wouldn’t be there to make things better.

 

“Daddy, you believe in God?”

 

“Yeah, baby, always did.”

 

Stiles shrugged, “Then don’t cry. If heaven is real, we’ll find each other, someday.”

 

John smiled into his wild hair, “Not a very good incentive to hold on, baby boy.”

 

His words were soft, childish like the ones that he always used with Stiles when he was littler. Not exactly baby talk, he’d not done that with Stiles since he was four, but still, it made Stiles want to cling to him and not let go.

 

His strength was leaving, though. It’d become hard to keep his eyes open. “Wasn’t trying to convince you to hold on, Daddy.”

 

John held him tighter. “You realize that you might be encouraging suicide, right?”

 

Stiles shrugged, the most he seemed to be able to do at the moment with his strength. “It’s your life. Do what you want with it. Don’t want it? Get rid of it.”

 

John was quiet for a moment, “How did I never realize just how suicidal you are?”

 

Stiles felt himself slipping, but held on. He needed to tell his dad this. “Never would have done it. Scared. Couldn’t make the choice myself. Feel good now.”

 

“You do? Why?”

 

John’s voice sounded desperate. “Didn’t have to make that choice. Not scared now, it made it for me.”

 

That was the last thing John heard before the machine next to the bed started flat-lining.

 

It hurt more this time than when Claudia’s had done that.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at littleboyfics.tumblr.com for Teen Wolf trash, and gayerthancanon.tumblr.com for Supernatural trash.


End file.
